


The Real Thing

by virdant



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Idols, Boyband, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, M/M, here's a boyband au, my sole purpose in fandom is to write a boyband au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 19:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16919340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virdant/pseuds/virdant
Summary: Hannibal Lecter shifted, just enough to lean forward. “You recreate others work, yet you have never written a song for yourself.”“I wrote enough when I was in a boyband.”--Will Graham, former frontman of boyband Tempo Tantrums, goes on tour with Dr. Hannibal Lecter as his manager.(A series of interconnected vignettes)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hesitated over posting this story because I had designs of polishing it up and properly plotting it out, but since I'm moving all of my tumblr things over to AO3, here's a story to archive all of them. Perhaps one day I will properly write out this AU, during which I will probably rearrange how these vignettes are displayed.
> 
> I love boybands, and Will's hair is amazing boyband hair it's wonderful I can't believe there aren't a thousand boyband AUs already.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early in Will Graham's solo tour, Will and Hannibal have a late-night conversation.

“You push and prod,” Will said, leaning back in his seat. In the dim of the hotel room five cities away from where the tour had started, Hannibal matched his posture. Will had finished his performance today, made his appearance among those who had shelled out more for the VIP experience, and now, as the night shifted towards the morning, sat in his hotel room, whiskey in hand, Hannibal Lecter across from him.

Hannibal said, “And how does that make you feel?”

“Lazy psychiatry,” Will pointed out. Outside, the lights of the city gleamed. The sun would be rising soon, and the fluorescent lights that had previously illuminated the streets would fade in comparison. Soon, the adrenaline would fade, and Will would make attempts to sleep. “How does it make you feel?”

Hannibal leaned back in his seat, one leg crossed over the other. Will had mimicked his posture sometime in the first hour, and they had not moved since. He swirled his wine and sipped, and said, “Uncle Jack thinks you a teacup of the finest china, brought out to be admired by his guests, a vessel for consumption.”

Will threw back the last of his whiskey. This tour was ostentatiously for his recent album, a collection of covers of songs he’d written for various artists, along with a smattering of the music he had written back when he was younger. Will had recorded the album to get Jack off his back. Jack had sent him on a nation-wide tour instead. He’d arrived at the meeting with the producers and directors with a set-list already compiled and locations already booked.

“And what do you see me as?”

Hannibal said, “The mongoose under the house as the snakes slither by.”

He had protested—first the tour: he had seven dogs, he had never agreed to go on tour, didn’t Jack have other artists he could parade around the country?—then the set-list, then the personal manager who would be accompanying him every step of the way. Hannibal had proven his worth when he had the dates reduced and the set-list changed to accommodate Will’s opinions.

“You didn’t answer my question, Dr. Lecter,” Will pointed out.

Hannibal Lecter shifted, just enough to lean forward. “You recreate others work, yet you have never written a song for yourself.”

“I wrote enough when I was in a boyband.”

Hannibal paused, just for a breath, before he refuted, “You are no longer beholden to the expectations of a reputation of purity.”

Will snorted. “I don’t think that Tempo Tantrums ever had a reputation of purity.”

But he remembered the expectations from his time as reluctant frontman of that boyband, when his hair had been teased into whatever the latest fashions had been decided to be, when his outfits were picked for him every day, when his words had been scripted and planted into his mouth. When his music, his looks, his opinions—when he was taken and stripped bare and twisted, malleable, until it was fit for popular consumption. He had signed on to Jack Crawford’s label after his time in the Tempo Tantrums as a songwriter and arranger, only to be dragged back out less than a decade of peace later. Between Jack and Hannibal dictating this tour from behind the scenes, Will had expected more of the same from before.

But, having successfully managed Jack Crawford, Hannibal provided little input beyond a few questions and a steady presence late at night until the sun rose. He coordinated Will’s schedule, managed the rabid fans—Graham Crackers, they called themselves, much to Hannibal’s subtle amusement and Will’s perpetual struggle to keep a straight face, and ensured the tour ran smoothly. He provided hand-cooked meals every day despite the limitations of travelling across the country.

He asked Will to write music for himself.

Will stared at the empty glass. Hannibal collected it from him and stood to put them aside for housekeeping. The other nights, Will had taken that as his cue to attempt to sleep.

The sun was beginning to rise. The fluorescent stars of the street signs seemed to fade in its light. Will said, “Jack would have been satisfied with a cover album.”

And, illuminated by dawn light, Hannibal’s face exuded a placid satisfaction. “I am not Jack Crawford.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This vignette was written for Fhimechan, in thanks for her filling out a survey on a potential writing app.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mid-tour, Will sees too much.

“Tell me, Will, what monsters you see today.”

“So many,” Will murmured back. Around them, dozens of crew shuffled around, checking wiring and lighting and a dozen other necessities. He would be going on stage soon, to squint against the bright lights. So lit, the audience would metamorph into a sea of endless faces, and from that darkness—

“What do you see?” he persisted.

“There is a stag.” Will closed his eyes. Hannibal’s hands cradled his temples. “It coalesces in the crowd. They stand still, like trees in a forest, and around them the shadows shift. Its antlers curve towards the ceiling, and when the light hits them, they absorb all of the light so there is only darkness instead.” He inhaled. “It has always been there. It will always be there.”

“What does the stag do?”

“It comes,” he whispered. “It stands before me, and its fur drips black with blood. It wants to hear me. It wants to know what I will do.”

Hannibal waited.

As if rousing from sleep, Will’s eyes blinked open. He fumbled before his face as if to adjust his glasses before realizing that they were already gone, tucked away in the inside pocket of Hannibal’s jacket. He never wore his glasses when he went on stage, letting the already indistinct faces of the crowd blur even further. He settled for wrapping fingers around Hannibal’s wrist, Hannibal’s strong hands still cradling his head as he slumped forward into them. “Hannibal,” he said. “Is it time to go on stage?”

“Not yet.” He let go, slowly enough that Will could take the weight back onto his own neck. Will straightened, and Hannibal took a step back, so they were no longer standing chest-to-chest in the dark shadows backstage.

Will shoved his hands into his pockets. He had a wardrobe of four outfits that he would change into, and this was his first one, fitted jeans and a button up underneath a dark blazer. In the shadows of backstage, the blazer looked black. When the lights hit it, the iridescent fabric would glimmer as if to illuminate him.

“Five minutes,” an AD hissed as he hurried by.

“Five minutes,” Hannibal echoed. He patted the pocket that held Will’s glasses. “Are you ready to go on?”

“What will happen if I say no?”

“Then you put on your glasses and I make your apologies to the crowd.” Hannibal’s posture was, as always, impeccable, despite the cramped space—they were underneath the stage proper; the hydraulic lift would raise Will to the stage in five minutes, and then Hannibal would take his position just out of sight along the side.

“And then,” Will murmured, “will we leave without a body left behind?”

Hannibal smiled. “Oh Will, what do you think?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During one of my many complaints about boyband AU, Ellie challenged me to, instead of writing the entire story, just write a vignette (under 500 words, she said). Here it is.


End file.
